Recruitment
by darkpadawan11
Summary: Alone on patrol in the jungles of Dxun, a young Mandalorian recruit finds himself pitted against a dark Jedi.
1. Chapter 1

Recruitment

**Part One:** _Always Be Prepared_

The rain had made the paths muddy enough to swallow a boma whole. Davrel had to leap across the suspect sections, with far more agility than his heavy armour should allow, but he came dangerously close to falling into the bogged holes.

The last thing he wanted was to return to the encampment covered in muck. Not only would he get a mouthful of pride-wounding abuse from Captain Kral but he'd be laughed out of the recruit's barracks. It was common knowledge that patrol wasn't quite the life-or-death assignment it used to be. The Jedi and her companions had ensured that the paths were no longer crawling with vicious predators.

That combined with the fact the camp was at a quarter of its former strength meant that rookies like Davrel were sent to patrol the jungle paths now. It kept them usefully occupied while the seasoned soldiers were busy doing the real work.

It also kept the recruits from complaining too loudly about being left behind while others were earning enough honour to support a battalion.

Davrel kept his eyes on the path ahead, ears alert for any threatening sounds. The rain drummed a regular tattoo against his armour, a strangely comforting sound. The weight of the heavy rifle he carried was also comforting, so were the frag grenades he carried on his utility belt.

Rule number one-_always be prepared_-he'd been quick to learn, and Sarge was there to beat it into him if he hadn't. The Jedi had also shown him the value of the lesson during their contest. He hadn't been expecting her to be so strong, so quick.

Beneath his helmet, Davrel winced. The memory of the flogging he'd experienced at her bare hands was a sore one. He hadn't stopped copping hell since everyone had witnessed the battle circle encounter. The older soldiers didn't embarrass him over it-being veterans of the wars they'd likely seen their fair share of Mandalorians losing against Jedi-but his fellow recruits wouldn't give it up. Even helping her group take down the zakkeg hadn't stopped them. Most of them doubted he'd done much during that hunt.

What did they know? Davrel asked himself moodily, treading towards the clearing ahead. None of them had been there, so how would they know that he'd been the one to track it to its den? And he didn't want them knowing what had happened during the fight against the brutal beast. He wasn't sure that he wanted to know, and it was bad enough that the Jedi knew.

Thinking of the incident always made him more confused than ever, but he couldn't help worrying at it, like an itchy kolto patch on a wound. The past month hadn't done anything to help. The growing responsibility he'd been entrusted with hadn't been the distraction he'd hoped for either. Instead of taking his mind off the matter, walking lonely patrols through the jungle only gave him the time to think…something Davrel hadn't ever done much of, to tell the truth. He'd never needed to.

The Jedi had changed that. Davrel had no doubt in his mind that _she_ was responsible for this. His grip on the rifle slightly tightened beneath his gloved hands. If she hadn't come here, then he wouldn't be considering leaving everything he knew.

The narrow path widened slightly to reveal an open space, the remains of an extinguished campfire in evidence. Without thinking, Davrel had his rifle up, scanning the nearby foliage. He knew that he was the only Mandalorian scout in the area, and it wasn't one of his campsites.

He activated his comm. 'Control, Davrel. Signs of unidentified activity in sector eight. I'm investigating.'

'Strike that last, soldier,' a gruff voice answered over the static. 'Orders are to remain until a detail arrives. Repeat, remain until reinforcements arrive.'

'It's a single campsite, control,' Davrel argued, 'I can investigate alone.'

'Wait for reinforcements,' was the irritated reply. 'That's a direct order.'

Davrel acknowledged and signed off, inwardly seething. What was the point of even sending him on patrol if they still thought he needed someone to hold his hand? Hadn't he proven himself capable during the Sith attack on the encampment?

The ground around the charred fire was muddy and Davrel couldn't find a single clear footprint. The rain must have washed them away before he'd gotten down here. He turned his attention to the knee-high grass nearby, noting how some stalks had been snapped and bent. Not enough to form an obvious trail, but enough for Davrel to guess what direction the intruders had gone.

Torn between wanting to charge off alone and wanting to follow orders, Davrel stood staring into the dark jungle. _The reinforcements will take at least an hour,_ he thought, _and whoever's been here has a decent head start. Another hour and we could lose them for good out there._ He frowned and activated his helmet's basic scanning programs. As the swirls of colour appeared on his HUD screen and began to detail other broken foliage, the memory of what the Jedi had told him the night after the zakkeg encounter began to ring in his ears…

_"It's in there, and you can feel it for yourself now. I don't think even you can deny it's there…just merely waiting for you to acknowledge it. So what's your choice, Davrel? Are you going to become a half-person for the rest of your life, always wondering what you could have accomplished, what kind of man you might have been? Or are you going to uphold your true ideals of honour-and take the chance to become more than what you are?"_

With the Jedi's words ringing in his ears, Davrel made his decision and strode purposefully into the jungle.

He hadn't gotten very far when he found snapped branches and clear footprints. The distinctive tread was easily recognisable. Smiling slowly, Davrel paused to contact control.

'Control, Davrel. I've found footprints. Intruder is Sith-affiliated. Repeat, intruder is Sith. He's heading for the ravines south of the landing clearing.' Snapping off the comm before control could blast him for disobeying orders, Davrel continued down the gentle slope, eager to find this soldier that had somehow survived the attack a month ago.

The ravine was full of sound, making it hard for Davrel to isolate any particular noise that didn't belong. Occasionally, a boma's loud growl would echo through the jungle, but it was too far away to be any danger. Davrel followed the Sith soldier's trail with ease. Each clumsy attempt at covering his tracks made Davrel's job surprisingly simple. What Davrel didn't find with his own tracking skill was picked up by the basic programs in his helmet. He finished in a grassy clearing, the stream to his right and the last smudge of a footprint in front of him. Davrel bent to gauge a closer look at the print.

A low humming caught his attention. How he heard it over the sound of the stream's running water and the loud beeping of his helmet, he didn't know, but it launched him into action. He began firing before the dark figure could attack.

_'Fierfek!'_ His bolts were absorbed by the shield his opponent wore in a surge of golden light. Davrel fired the rifle again, tracking the figure as it dove into a cover. He fired until he'd expended an entire clip of ammo, stripping the plants bare. Keeping his eyes on the area, he ejected the expended cartridge and clipped in a fresh one.

Nothing moved, but Davrel didn't think he'd scored a hit. Ever since the Sith had attacked the encampment, he'd developed a sense for downed targets.

_And this one certainly isn't down_, he thought. Davrel approached cautiously, prepared for another attack. His instincts were confirmed when he found nothing but torn apart leaf matter.

'Nice try, _recruit_,' a low voice hissed from above, stressing the last word. 'Unfortunately, brute strength isn't going to save your life.'

Davrel shrugged, keeping his rifle aimed high. 'Why don't we find out? Come down, friend, and give me a better shot.' Without waiting for an answer, Davrel squeezed the trigger.

The soldier vaulted to another tree, almost too fast for Davrel's eyes too follow, disappearing into the dark canopy above. His interest in the confrontation growing-was he a Force-user rather than just a common trooper?-Davrel peered into the canopy above. Reaching to his belt, he pulled free a frag grenade.

'Outrun this,' he muttered under his breath, arming and throwing the grenade into the canopy. He ducked, the canopy above him exploding into orange brilliance, debris raining down on him and thudding heavily against his armour.

Frag's got to have finished him, he thought, pushing back to his feet. Frag would take out anything-

Then he remembered. _Always be prepared._ Davrel hefted his rifle again and squinted through the scope. Sure enough, there was movement up there. Nothing definite-no silhouette to be picked off with a sniper shot, but a strange distorted shape leaping from limb to limb. It was far too purposeful to be flaming foliage. Grinning grimly, Davrel followed the shape.

Gotcha, he thought, rather pleased with himself.

The distorted shape paused. Davrel was about to squeeze the trigger when the dark Jedi's voice suddenly spoke clearly in his mind.

: I'm going to make your death a _painful_ one, boy. :

Davrel ignored the threat and shot anyway. He never knew if his bolts connected because a sudden blast of hot electricity knocked him onto his back, sending agonising pain throughout his entire body. His limbs convulsed uncontrollably, and it felt like he was frying in his own armour. A faint smell, like boma meat roasting on an open campfire filled his nostrils…and made him gag, sour-tasting liquid burning the back of his throat.

_That's _me_ cooking! It's burning my flesh…_

He refused to scream.

The pain had consumed him so utterly that when the pale face leaned over him menacingly, he couldn't see it. When a hand reached down to lift him easily by the throat, he couldn't feel the pressure.

But he could feel the violent shock of energy course through him. It felt like the time he'd accidentally touched an exposed circuit as a child, intense and almost crippling.

: Don't resist. My slave-and you very well how to be a slave, don't you? You fear it more than anything… And you fear far more than your brethren. Yes, I know about your mother, and the life she bore you into. I understand why you were so eager to follow the Mandalorian cause, why you turned your back on your brother to come to this moon. Your mind screams these things at me. What did you find here, slave, but a dying cause led by a faithless man? What did you learn among this pitiful rabble but confirmation that _none of it matters?_ :

The voice was within him, spreading like a toxin through his system. Half-fearing that he would shame himself and begin to scream in terror, Davrel pushed the presence from his mind with the last reserves of his strength.

He must have taken the dark Jedi by surprise because he was suddenly on the ground, gasping desperately for air and choking back the bile that had risen in his throat. The always comforting helmet was suddenly suffocating him, the air trapped inside scalding and the circuitry fried. With shaking fingers, he pulled it free and shakily stood to face the cloaked dark Jedi, nearly choking on the damp, clear air. The cold rain was cleansing on his burned bare face.

The dark Jedi, a bearded male in saturated black robes, regarded Davrel in shock.

'Not quite what you were expecting, huh?' Davrel asked weakly, pulling out his vibroblade.

'No, not exactly,' the dark Jedi answered frankly, pulling out a lightsaber hilt. 'But then, I've often found expectation to be misleading. We expected that the Jedi Order had been exterminated. Freedon Nadd's Tomb was expected to be a simple operation. My apprentice certainly wasn't expecting to be decapitated during what should have been a routine mission.' The lightsaber ignited, illuminating the man's sharp profile with crimson light. 'However, I don't expect your friends to be along for quite a while. And that's an expectation I'm certain won't disappoint me.' The smile he gave Davrel promised unendurable agonies.

That dark presence threatened to invade his mind again, prizing apart his defences. Prepared, Davrel attacked first. The humming lightsaber easily deflected his vibroblade, slicing dangerously close to taking off Davrel's right hand. Leaping back nimbly, Davrel delivered a series of powerful strikes.

'Idiot,' the dark Jedi hissed. 'Don't you see? He's demanding that you all throw your lives away, not for glory, not for honour, but for a _Jedi _cause. He isn't your leader because he has chosen to be. He is your leader because Revan _told_ him to be. You are the Republic's sacrificial offering during the next invasion-and he has made you a willing one.'

Davrel didn't falter in his attack. 'Liar,' he spat, swinging the blade at the Dark Jedi's head. 'He wouldn't do that do us.'

The dark Jedi parried the attack and pressed one of his own, using agile, flaming strokes. 'You might wish I were, but I'm not. Your very denial confirms what I have told you is the truth. Why else would a Mandalorian-the _Mandalore_ himself-suffer the presence of not just any Jedi, but the same one that slaughtered and betrayed your kind at every opportunity presented to her?'

He brought the vibroblade to meet a lethal overhead swing, straining to keep the man from cutting him in half. The rain was working its way into his armour and making him shiver uncontrollably, his traitorous fingers threatening to slip from the hilt.

'She earned his respect. Her honour was proven,' Davrel answered, slowly reduced to one knee under the dark Jedi's unnatural strength.

His reply was mocking laughter, and a sudden kick to the face, too swift for him to counter. Blood filled his mouth, making him choke and spit teeth. The weight abruptly lifted from the locked blades, and taking advantage of Davrel's momentary confusion, the Sith hit him again, using the Force to knock Davrel onto his back.

'Is that what you call it? Honour?' the Sith asked condescendingly. Davrel grasped his blade's hilt and got to his knees, struggling to keep up with the Sith's dazzling attacks. He bit back a cowardly scream when the Dark Jedi began to enter his mind again, focusing instead on the lightsaber that flared dangerously close to taking his life.

I won't shame myself, he told himself. I _won't_ shame-

The violation of his mind was beyond anything else he'd experienced. Davrel struggled to keep his eyes open and trained on the deadly red blade mere inches from his face. The dark presence tore brutally into his memories, dredging old emotions and feelings…

_A small boy, held in his older brothers' arms and trying hard not to shame himself, watching a fleet of Basilisks take off from a dusty plain and hoping that Da won't be away long this time…_

'Get out,' Davrel snarled, trying to push the man away from him. The attacker in turn easily disarmed him, sending the vibroblade flying into the stream. A stunning blow knocked Davrel down to the ground again, leaving him coughing and gasping.

He could feel the Sith working his way deeper into his memories, resurfacing things Davrel had tried so hard to repress and leave behind.

_His mother, wan and close to succumbing to the disease that would take her life, begging him to make more of himself than Kamran and his father, to achieve more than just death and destruction, promising that there was more to his life than what he'd witnessed…_

The guilt and shame almost made him choke. Of all the memories, _this_ was what had made him question the path he'd taken in his life. The Jedi had merely reminded him of that.

: And you've let her down so utterly, haven't you? Failure seems to be who you are, slave. :

Davrel howled in fury, trying to break his mind free, but couldn't. The dark Jedi's grip was determined-there was no chance of success this time.

The longer he struggled, the more aware he became of the man's sadistic amusement at his futile efforts. And that made it worse than anything, even worse than the Jedi's casual attitude to the humiliation she'd dished out in the training circle. Far, far worse than all the taunts he'd endured since arriving on Dxun.

_Kamran, his face red with fury and frustration, throwing a gauntleted fist into an older Davrel's face and spitting curses at him, disowning him while Davrel staggered back to his feet…_

"_Fool…useless fool…over, don't you understand? They longer exist! Honour's bartered, little brother, and the sooner you realise that…"_

Davrel tried to shut away the memory of his brother, and failed. Kamran had disowned him, thought him a fool for believing that honour was worth dying for. Davrel hadn't seen him for almost a year.

: No one cares about something as paltry as yourself, slave. There are countless scores of those such as you, ignorant failures feeding pathetically from the weaknesses of others. Mere pawns for the powerful. Petty amusements until the next fool stumbles along. :

No! Davrel thought desperately. You're wrong…she proved it…

But even as the thought of the Jedi came to mind, the Sith was already dredging another memory…

_A trio of armoured men greeting him silently as he approaches a dusty launch pad and a rusty ship. "New recruit," one comments as Davrel strides up the cargo ramp. "Blaster fodder," comments another wearing yellow-armour. "Won't last longer than a week of training with Kral." Two laugh together, but the red-armoured man at the foot of the ramp shakes his head. "Idiots. That's one of Dallon's sons." The yellow-armoured Mandalorian snorts, clearly unimpressed. "Well, then perhaps he'll live long enough to be shot out of the sky like his father…"_

Davrel recoiled from the memory. The dark Jedi laughed and pressed further, strengthening his grip on the young soldier's mind until Davrel began to scream. Clearly enjoying the situation, the dark figure pushed for Davrel's worst memory, the one he was fighting to hide even from himself.

_The Jedi woman-the one Kral growls is _kiu'ka_, or traitor- corners him as he tries to return to his barracks. "There's another possibility for you now," she says. "An entire galaxy to consider." Davrel snickers beneath his helmet. "Don't be a fool," he answers. "I don't care what you claim I did this afternoon. I killed that zakkeg with my blade, not the Force. Keep your soft ideals for the next idiot." The Jedi regards him for a long moment. Davrel begins to think she will admit her mistake. But she doesn't. Instead, she gives him that annoying half-smile and says, "ah, but Davrel, you could have… It's in there, and you can feel it for yourself now…"_

The Sith hesitated, thrown momentarily by this unexpected knowledge. Davrel could feel the man's confusion, then his elation. Sickened and still unable to confront the truth, Davrel rolled to his side, the pain of the Sith's attacks still charging through his body.

I'm going to die here, he thought, the pain searing into a strange clarity. This abomination will murder me and then escape into the galaxy…and it will be my fault because I was weak.

The emotion that flooded his being wasn't the shame he expected to feel. After all, he'd again lost his honour by succumbing to this Sith's attacks, by failing to uphold his duty.

No, it was regret. Regret that he'd failed everyone…everything. Regret that he would die before truly making a choice about his future. Regret that this dark, cruel man before him would continue to kill and corrupt and that he could do nothing to stop it.

I'm sorry, he thought, unsure who exactly he was apologising to. I'm sorry I couldn't do more…I'm sorry I'm weak.

**Note: **This is set not long after KOTOR II. Obviously the Exile was a woman and Light-Sided.


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: Forgot to put it on the first chapter, so here it is. I don't own Davrel, or the KOTOR series, or Star Wars and I'm not writing this with any intention of making a profit._

PART TWO:_ A Different Path to Follow _

A mocking laugh rang in his ears, but Davrel was grateful that at least it didn't echo within his mind. The dark Jedi kicked him onto his back, the impact jarring his already fried joints. It was a struggle merely to keep his eyes open and trained on the blurred crimson blade that would deal his death. Each shuddering breath was painful but he was appreciative even as he fought for air.

After all, he thought as the dark Jedi regarded him silently, these could be my last.

"They don't necessarily have to be," the dark Jedi said, like he'd read Davrel's thoughts. "You don't have to die on this moon, _Davrel_."

Davrel was surprised when he managed a laugh that sounded more like a wheeze. It must have surprised the dark Jedi too, because the man delivered a vicious kick to Davrel's other side. Sharp pains told Davrel that at least three of his ribs had been broken, but he was alive.

He had that at least.

"I won't ask again. You have the potential to use the Force-and I have lost my apprentice. An accommodation could be reached between us. Consider what you could be capable of among the armies of the Sith, what you could learn and understand. Imagine the power." The man's voice was persuasive. "Imagine the honour you could earn."

Davrel managed to laugh again.

"No," he replied in a weak voice. "That isn't honour. I'd rather die here than be without a soul."

The dark Jedi's pale face screwed up with fury.

"Fine," he retorted, "die in the mud like a slave deserves!" He lifted the blazing lightsaber high, then brought it down in a cutting arc determined to decapitate Davrel. The weapon hummed dangerously as it descended.

For Davrel, it seemed that time slowed. Instead of the fabled "life flashing before my eyes", all he saw was the lightsaber glowing viciously in a blurred line, the light reflecting from his enemy's dark eyes and gleaming white teeth.

The end, he thought as he closed his eyes, surprised to feel so detached about his own death.

_It doesn't have to be_, a small voice within him said. _Remember what she said… _

_Can I really? Will it answer if I call?_ He asked himself, sensing the heat from the lightsaber as it neared his head.

_How else will I know? _Came the reply.

As the dark Jedi gave a triumphant cry, Davrel threw aside the defences he'd built since childhood, the defences his mother had taught him to hide the unnatural talent he'd displayed. On the edge of his senses, something answered his desperate plea, filled him with comforting energy and calm reassurance.

Davrel's eyes flew open and with renewed vigour, he rolled to the right. The lightsaber seared itself into the soft earth where his head had been merely seconds before. The dark Jedi recovered quickly, slashing viciously. Davrel countered by unexpectedly going on the offensive, landing blows even as the lightsaber hummed lethally close to lopping off limbs.

Davrel could hardly think for himself, merely followed the directions and subtle clues the energy offered him. He ducked, wove and leapt as lead to, the dark Jedi's intentions somehow spelled clearly before him.

When the Sith's lightsaber came close to shearing off his left arm, Davrel merely slipped beneath the blade and aimed a hard kick in the opening offered. He resisted the urge to laugh hysterically, for fear of destroying the connection, and instead focused on disarming his opponent.

_This is how they feel…this is why they win…this is why we never defeat them…_ Fragments of thought flew through his mind as Davrel deftly avoided another slash, aware that the rush of adrenaline had waned, replaced instead by an unshakable sense of certainty and rest that he'd never experienced before. For the first time in his life, Davrel knew the outcome of this contest without being arrogant or over-confident. The reassuring energy that flowed about him was revealing paths and connections he'd never noticed with his other senses.

Amid the energy that teemed about him, Davrel could sense the void that was the dark Jedi attacking him. He vaguely wondered if the dark Jedi could sense his disadvantage. Amid the blazing life about them both, the dark Jedi was leaving a trail of intent and purpose that was easier to follow than a HUD training program.

The dark Jedi cartwheeled to the left in an impressive display of agility. The blade furiously cut through the air, but met nothing. Davrel followed the trail of negative energy and simply moved from its projected path. The dark Jedi landed, his dark hair falling into his face in stringy strands that did nothing to veil the uncontrolled rage that froze his expression.

"You practically stink of Jedi weakness," the dark Jedi spat. "Is this what you would make of yourself? A pawn of the Republic?"

Davrel thought of his mother, of the Jedi who had spared him. There was a reason they believed in me, he thought, knowing instinctively that he was right. To his surprise, he felt no guilt at the thought, no sense of disloyalty.

About him and within him, the benign energy he now knew to be the Force gave its agreement.

"I'm not a pawn," he answered in a low, weak voice, "and I never will be. Not the Republic's, not the Mandalore's. And certainly not _yours_."

"Fool," he man replied.

"No," Davrel retorted, "not any longer. I don't doubt any more, I know my path…" It was his turn to give the dark Jedi a condescending smile. "I trust the Force."

And to his shock, it was the truth.

The Sith laughed cruelly. "The Force has no conscious. It falters and at times it wanes. It can be manipulated and it can be cruel. Would you put your life in the care of such a power? The Sith don't-they understand the one truth in this galaxy, one that has eluded your grasp for your entire existence. The only entity that can be truly trusted is yourself."

He lunged towards Davrel again, expecting the young soldier to duck, weave or retreat. Davrel didn't. Instead, he held his ground and followed the path opened to him by the Force. As the lightsaber swung towards him, Davrel stepped quickly to intercept it, using both hands to firmly grasp the other man's arm and shoulder.

The dark Jedi attempted to pull himself back, but couldn't get free. The heavy robes he wore gave Davrel a convenient advantage. With an abrupt wrench, Davrel felt bone and cartilage beneath his grip snap and tear. He could feel his opponent's pain and shock through the Force before the dark Jedi gave a surprised cry of pain and dropped his weapon. The lightsaber went hissing into the mud. The scent of evaporating earth filled the air, clean and surprisingly fresh.

Davrel wasn't surprised that the other man's shoulder gave way easily. He pressed his advantage, throwing a heavy blow to the man's face. He was dispassionate when he felt the dark Jedi's nose crunch beneath his gauntleted fist, the blood spraying across them both. The man attempted to use the Force to push him away, the pressure unbalancing Davrel. Davrel could feel the Force about him swirling, the direction becoming more obscure to read in response.

Disorientated, he took a wild swing that was easily avoided by the dark Jedi. Unbalanced and distracted, Davrel didn't sense the dark Jedi reaching for his own reserves of forbidden strength. The crashing sound filled his ears first, and then the glowing violet light encircled the dark Jedi, his eyes bleaching white and mouth set into a grim line.

Davrel took an involuntary step back, perturbed by this change of events. He was about to reach for the Force when the light suddenly hit him, filling his vision with shadows and death.

The dark Jedi assumed a feral grin and began to advance on Davrel, the violet light intensifying. He could feel the strength leeching from his body, his newfound vitality pouring in waves through the Force towards the dark figure. Not one part of his body didn't scream its resistance to the violation.

_He's stealing my strength,_ Davrel screamed at himself. _He'll steal my life to renew himself if I don't fight back! _

Davrel struggled to stand, but his legs no longer had the strength to support him. He sank to the ground, the numbing weakness spreading rapidly though his body. The arc of brilliant violet light that connected Davrel to his attacker was blindingly bright. Even when his eyelids no longer had the strength to keep his eyes open, he could see it. More importantly he could feel it…leaving him and charging his enemy.

_What can I do?_ He asked himself. _Not even my armour will protect me from this stripping… _

Even as the thought crossed his pain-filled mind, another fragment of memory came to mind, one that the dark Jedi hadn't unearthed during his mental violation.

_The zakkeg, having thrown off the Jedi's two apprentices-the blonde human has been flung into the packed earth that cradles the predator's lair, the Zabrak's double-ended lightsaber crushed beneath the zakkeg's talons-rounds on the Jedi and Davrel and roars, the stench of carrion nearly overwhelming the filters in his helmet. He drops to one knee, begins to fire a barrage of red bolts that would cut down any other creature, aiming for vulnerable spots, eyes, throat, underbelly… _

_At his side, the Jedi woman has her lightsaber ignited, one hand held out. Davrel wonders what she's doing-her expression is one of focused determination and strain-and what exactly she thinks she'll achieve by just standing there and doing nothing. _

_There's a strange noise in his ears, very faint and slightly like the crashing of waves against a rocky shore, but he assumes it static. It's annoying and sets his teeth on edge, but he does his best to ignore it. The battle must have damaged my helmet, he thinks. _

_The zakkeg starts towards them, its heavy bulk filling Davrel's HUD screen. He's suddenly certain he's going to die, no one has survived this monster and it's unlikely he will either- _

_-and then the Jedi pushes him aside and steps to intercept the creature with a sudden burst of green energy that flares from her hands. The zakkeg snarls and snaps its enormous maw, and throws itself against the shield in uncontrolled fury. It's such a fragile defence that Davrel's certain it will falter and opens his mouth to say as much- _

_-when the Jedi lets the barrier drop abruptly and unexpectedly. Davrel jumps to his feet and begins to fire, expending the last of his gas-cartridge and dropping the heavy repeater to draw his vibroblade when- _

_-the Jedi woman flings her lightsaber at the creature as it charges at them. The blue blade buries itself into the zakkeg's thick skull, just above one slitted yellow eye, driven deep by the zakkeg's own momentum. _

_The zakkeg gives one last pathetic groan before collapsing to the ground. _

_Davrel and the Jedi stare at each other as her companions begin to stir back into consciousness._

_Her expression worries and disturbs him fora reason that he can't place. _

With a grunt of effort that sounded more like a snarl, Davrel reached for the Force again. It was desperately attempting to replenish what energy the dark Jedi stole, but couldn't. Feeling his body-his _life_-failing fast, Davrel made his last gamble, one that not even the Force could assure him would succeed.

Instead of channelling the Force into himself, he made a conscious effort to push it away, toward the dark Jedi. For a torturous moment, Davrel felt the sudden rush of pain as his life began to slip away, accelerated and agonising.

The violet arc of energy that connected the two faltered, sending small fat sparks sizzling to the ground and slightly slowing the draining. Heartened, Davrel flung one gauntleted hand toward the dark-robed figure, the violet energy reacting as it came into contact with his gloved fingers. It reminded him of oil and water, or opposing magnets. The fluid violet light sparked and recoiled from his outstretched hand, this time more dangerously.

"What-what are you doing?" the dark Jedi snarled in surprise, increasing his focus in an attempt to overwhelm Davrel's unexpected defence.

Davrel, still unable to stand but strong enough to keep on his knees, flung out his opposite hand, marvelling at how the deadly energy reacted. Flaring away from Davrel, the energy began to recoil and retract violently toward its maker.

Able to breathe properly again, the terrible pressure now dissipating, he focused more clearly, able to cast aside the fear that had gripped him only moments before. The Force responded, channelling toward the dark Jedi with more intensity. Matching the dark Jedi's determined stare, Davrel watched the white-violet light crackle and roar as it was pushed further away, the dark Jedi's white eyes beginning to return to their natural colour in response.

"No!" the dark Jedi howled in disbelief. He must have sensed what was about to happen first, but Davrel didn't care. If he was going to die here…then so was his killer.

The invisible barrier that had been repelling the life-stealing energy suddenly became visible as bright green shield that originated from Davrel's outstretched hands. His determined face reflecting the brilliant emerald light, Davrel directed it toward the dark Jedi with what was left of his strength.

The man screamed-no, _howled_-his rage and doubled his efforts, his strain betrayed by his knotted brow. Somewhere far off in the jungle, a zakkeg shrieked in reply, echoing the dark Jedi's frustration and hunger for violence.

The light flared again, stalling the shield's progress. It paused only a body-length away from the dark Jedi, and slowly began to push back toward Davrel.

_Now. _

Davrel let the shield drop, leaving an opening. The dark Jedi's life-stealing force surged through, spreading tendrils of white light that sizzled and crackled as it tore apart the remnants of Davrel's shield.

Davrel knew he couldn't match the energy's speed, nor did he have the strength left to recall his barrier of Force. What he did have was the strength to fall prone to the ground, one hand reaching blindly for the still-activated lightsaber, his fingers disturbing the dried mud as they scrambled for the foreign weapon's hilt.

The agony tore into him again, but Davrel ignored the pain and finally grasped the lightsaber.

"You had your chance!" the dark Jedi cried, his voice now hoarse and tinted by his own injuries.

Davrel dragged himself up, the violent crash of pain near deafening him, the insidious leeching of his strength forcing him to choke and strain for air again. His vision was dim now, his body fighting against him as she tried to focus on the dark Jedi.

"So did you." Davrel used the very last of his energy to throw the lightsaber.

The last thing he heard as he fell to the ground face-first was the singing of the lightsaber as it cut through the air.

And then there was an infuriated roar…

Davrel's mouth curved into a satisfied grin before he lost consciousness.

A/N- Just wanted to thnak the people who reviewed this. Sorry it's taken so long to update.


	3. Chapter 3I

PART THREE-_ Simple Choices _

_I. Inner Potential_

_He tries to open his eyes but can't. Doesn't possess the strength. Fights to breathe, pain tears through his side, he coughs and cries out. He's shaken until he protests incoherently to stop. _

_Voices filter through the agony. Unrecognisable…but familiar. Gruff and edged with hard practicality. _

"Sarge, he's fried-"

_Coughs again, cries out, tries to roll onto his side and finds he can't move. He's being held down roughly, hands pressing the plates of his shoulder guards against the raw, burnt skin beneath. Struggles, yells but can't get free. Coughs again and this time the pain is too intense, mirrored by the energy that surrounds him. _

_He recognises it. _

_The Force. _

_He yells, screams hysterically. The shout resounds about him instead of passing through his lips._

Nomorenomorenomorenomore….

_Harsh words follow. A sharp jab punctures through the mesh of his armour's underlay, drives into the flesh of his thigh. He yells again. Flails. More torment thrown back at him twofold. It's crippling…all he wants is escape. _

"Settle him down before I hit him,"_ someone growls in a moment of lucidity before the cloudy stim fogs his mind and takes the edge off the pain. _

_The response sounds like _"I can't…"_ Or is it "_He won't…"?

_One final attempt to get up, to move, to flee irrationally before the stim takes its hold. Pushed down. _

_Shouting, someone is shouting at him, but while he doesn't understand a word, he can feel the emotion through the Force. The anger and impatience, directed at him only serves to intensify his awareness… _

_Driven to the limit of his endurance, he repulses the energy, smashes the mirror of pain walled about him. In it's place, a new barrier is built, constructed of sheer will, of pain, of determination. It repels the Force, shunts the pain aside until slowly, the pain dissolves, and with it, his awareness. _

Thank you.

_He's never been so grateful in his life. _

_Finally, the stim does its job and Davrel is sent into drug-induced coma. _

_--------------------------------------------_

_While he sleeps, he has odd dreams. Swathed in fragments of memory and laced with hopes and fears from past and present, all haunt him even as one dissolves into the next. _

_He is a child, following his mother about on errands in a dusty market…and then a mighty warrior crowing glorious victory over a battlefield of slaughtered enemies…and next a mercenary, working alongside Kamran on an Exchange job, actually seeing respect in his older brother's eyes for the first time…a teenager, indulging in adolescent rebellion against the local authorities of some backwater dump…and at last, standing in the centre of the battle circle as champion at long last… _

_And so it progresses, one mirage after another, until he comes to realise something. _

_The single constant is the Jedi woman, the Exile. First a merchant, and then a slave, a rival merc, a fellow reveller, and finally as his defeated adversary in the circle, she is always there in the end, always there to sour his blissful ignorance and ruin his illusions. _

_In all, she repeats the same thing to him, in a variety of costume and roles, always with the same voice, same tone. _

"It's in there, and you can feel it for yourself now…"

_No matter how many times he recoils from her, flees and denies her, she always reappears to ruin the next dream. _

_He's trapped. _

_Another dream…this time standing in the centre of a podium, a roaring, bloodthirsty crowd of spectators surrounds him, exaltation flooding him as he waits for the presenter to hand him a trophy. He recognises the scene as the Syndicate Games, and he is this year's champion. He turns and she is there, the trophy in her hands and that same knowing expression on her face. _

"It's in there…" _She tries to offer the trophy to him with outstretched hands. _"…and you can feel it for yourself now…"

_This time when he flees into another dream, he runs far enough to penetrate consciousness. _

_------------------------------------------- _

_There is quiet now when he wakes. The room is dark and his skin feels as if it were on fire, his neck swollen so badly he is hardly able to swallow. Breathing hurts. With every inhalation and exhalation, a vicious agony lances across his right side. The smell of chemicals fills the room. He recognises the sickly-sour scent of kolto. When he attempts to open his eyes, he discovers he can't. Bandages are taped over them. _

_Not knowing where he is, or what has happened, or why his body hurts so badly, he makes an attempt to sit up. It fails, his body unable to support his weight. The fall backward is the most painful of all. The bedsheet tears at his skin like sandpaper. It feels as if he's been flayed. Fire races along his right side. His hoarse cry of pain leads to wracked coughing that rattles in his chest and scratches at his swollen throat. _

_But there is one thing he can take consolation in. _

_The barrier of determination holds fast. Everything about him-except the pain-is held at arm's length. It's a comfort amidst his body's injuries. _

_Unable to move, unable to open his eyes, he wonders what has happened to have caused so much torture. He truly can't remember ever being incapable of managing pain. Hasn't he been trained for such eventualities his entire life? Hasn't he hurt himself terribly before? _

So why does it hurt so badly now?_ He asks himself, frustrated, pain-addled. _

_There is a muted sound; a clicking of metal followed by what he thinks could be footsteps, although they are very soft and light-footed. They approach steadily and stop at his side. The unmistakable feeling of someone standing close prompts him to try to move, to speak, make inquiries- _

_-but all that emerges is an alarming croak, reminiscent of the klauga that used to infest the Hyluan marshes. Now a little frightened-_why can't I talk?_-and anxious he tries again, fails again. _

"Please, don't strain yourself. I understand that you are suffering." _The voice is comforting. _"I am here to help."

_Bracing for the administration of another stim, he is surprised when the person merely places cool, gloved hands on his chest. Despite the obvious care taken not to aggravate his injured skin, the press of the gloves feels grating and it hurts, but not so badly as the needle of a stim injector. _

_Too self-involved with his pain to wonder what the medic is doing, he is further surprised to feel the Force flood his body, returning unexpectedly with an overwhelming suddenness. It feels like he's just popped his ears. The barrier falls-and he makes no attempt to recreate it. As it washes over him the Force dissolves the brunt of the terrible burning and pain. _

_He can't reject it this time, can't turn away. _

_He cries out and wants to weep. The energy is so clear, so pure that he can hardly bear it but is desperate for more. Impatient, he greedily responds, reaching for the Force. Now tears sting in his eyes shamefully. His gratitude is as great as the relief. _

_It doesn't entirely eradicate the pain, but whatever the medic-_healer_ he thinks-is doing has stripped the agony of its teeth. It's not threatening to drive him insane anymore. Not with the Force to counter and distract, no longer mirroring it back to him. _

_This time, when he is caught by the neep to sleep, he doesn't fight it. Instead of running from the Force, he embraces it, already forgetting the stranger who has created this small miracle. He's focussed on the wonderful healing that knits together burnt, torn and swollen tissue and skin, on the regeneration working its diligent way through his body. The Force is there, soothing him, almost like a child's lullaby as he drifts away. _

_He vaguely thinks of his mother, and misses her and hopes she will be waiting in his dreams, whole and healthy and happy again. _

_--------------------------------------------_

_When he dreams again, it isn't his mother that waits for him. _

"It's in there, and you can feel it for yourself now…"

---------------------------------------------

_Later, when he is again briefly conscious and is given water and another shot of stims and med-packs, he senses the Force as he wakes. It greets him, flows through him. But when he tries to open his eyes, they open to small cracks. There is nothing but blurred darkness and a dim shadow. His skin still feels raw, burned, but the cold slime smeared all over it has dulled the pain until now it's bearable. The terrible pain of his side has also been muted from lancing agony to an uncomfortable ache with each breath. _

_Through the cloudy stims he can sense that the Force eddies about him, its presence comforting and growing familiar. Too weak to affect it, he's surprised that it is being channelled through him, healing and cleansing and revitalising as it threads its way through his damaged body. He realises that the Force is responsible for repairing the worst of the damage caused by the dark Jedi. He briefly reaches out to express his gratitude and a calm presence reaches back. _

_He recoils in surprise, both through the Force and with his body. _

_There is someone seated at his bedside, a blur of light and shade, a composed stranger who can direct and control the Force. Instinctively, he senses he doesn't know this person. When he finally rouses his mistrust, it is extinguished. _

_Feelings, not really words, are directed towards him. _

_Compassion and empathy, encouragement and revitalisation…all inspire sickening gratitude and win his immediate trust in a heartbeat. He can hardly find the necessary ill-will to be resentful or disgusted with himself. _

"I'm here to heal you,"_ states a quiet, well-spoken male voice. He recognises it as the same belonging to the healer. Core accent, he realises. Any other tone or inflection and the speaker would probably sound pompous. _"Although it seems your body has responded well to the treatment so far. An unexpected but excellent sign. Your recovery should not take long at all."

_The Force cradles him as he slips into the darkness this time. He's certain the man is responsible for his recovery. _

_Davrel hazards who the visitor is before dissolving into the comforting and healing unconsciousness sneaking up on him. _

A Jedi.

**A/N-** Thanks again for the reviews! Sorry for taking so fricking long in updating but my computer went and died on me. Hopefully I can get most of my updates posted regularly from now on.


	4. Chapter 3II

PART THREE-_ Simple Choices _

_II. Report _

The steady patter of rain against durasteel met Davrel as he finally woke. When he opened his eyes and sat up, unconsciously rubbing at his sore neck.

"Ah!" He fell back down, one hand clutched at his side. With every breath, a sharp pain lanced his torso along one side. Gritting his teeth, Davrel reached and grabbed the supports of the bunk and pulled himself up, fighting a wince. He blinked and rubbed at his itchy eyes, then made a half-hearted attempt to discover where he was.

_Is it…? It is. The barracks. How did I get here? What happened after…?_

He was startled to find himself in his own bunk, in the recruit's barracks, and not in the med bay. His eyes fell on the space beside his bed. Davrel frowned, trying to recollect what had happened.

_Isn't someone supposed to be there?_ He wondered at his odd expectation, a fragment of dream resurfacing fleetingly before it disappeared.

Davrel stopped scratching when he recognised the slick square of kolto patch taped to his neck. Further inspection revealed another four patches taped along his shoulders and upper neck. He held his arms out in front and whistled low under his breath. In the dim gloom of random glo-panels, he could see the puckered and raw skin that covered both arms and hands, but curiously didn't feel as much pain as he expected. An annoying tightness, yes, but no real pain.

The memory of frying in his armour returned vividly to mind and was just as abruptly quashed.

Davrel frowned and tried to focus on his surroundings. Squinting did no good. His eyes were incapable of focusing properly on anything, leaving the rest of the barracks a gloomy blur. A rumble of thunder struck over head and shook the entire bunker. Above Davrel's head, the soft metallic pattering of rain against durasteel started up.

He slid carefully out of bed, gauging the extent of his injuries as he stood. It was a relief to discover it all appeared superficial; burns for the majority, bruises mottled his side with a few ribs broken underneath. His throat felt swollen and protested as he swallowed, but it felt likely pass to a few days. The worst was the ache winnowed into his joints and along his muscles, because he doubted anything could be done about it.

He tried to stretch but the pain in his side forbade it. Whatever stims he'd been dosed with were beginning to wear off, leaving Davrel feeling nauseous and groggy, but he wasn't climbing back into his bunk.

_I'm not dead, so I should head out and make a report,_ he thought to himself as he checked his standing locker for his gear. Nothing in there but his heavy repeater and the blaster pistol. No sign of his vibroblade or his armour. Davrel muttered a curse under his breath and slammed the locker door shut.

Someone in the bunk above his moved and yawned. Careful not to stir Yrek, Davrel knelt and swept under the bunk until his hands slapped against the metal sides of his battered footlocker.

He dragged it out and rummaged through what few belongings he kept stored in there until he found the plain uniform issued to every recruit for basic training. He dressed as quickly as he could manage and was about to leave when another recruit entered, not wearing a helmet and sporting an impressive black eye that hadn't been there days ago.

"So you're finally awake. Only took you two days." Kumus' voice was deep even without the helmet's vocabulator, and a mocking smirk spread across the older recruit's mouth.

"I was out for two days?" His own voice was cracked with disuse. His throat twinged as he spoke.

"Uh-huh. Would have been more too if those Jedi hadn't arrived yesterday. You know, that was a whole lot of effort they spent trying to keep you alive. Everyone else was sure you'd die. Showed them huh?"

Davrel blinked. "Jedi? What happened? How did I get here?"

Kumus crossed to the row of standing lockers and opened one, taking out his battered blue helmet and setting it on the low bench. "Don't play dumb. Everyone knows you went against orders and got yourself fried. Ballsy, that, if you hadn't damn near killed yourself doing it."

There was an exaggerated yawn from the bunk above Davrel's. A pair of arms stretched in a way Davrel envied and a blonde head emerged over the bunk's side. A tired young man of about eighteen rubbed at one unshaven cheek, yawned again, this time louder, paused with half-slitted, gummy eyes and then promptly dropped back down, out of sight. The snores resumed.

"He's not going back to sleep is he?" Davrel asked in disbelief.

"He's already late," Kumus curtly told Davrel as he sat on the bench and began a check over the repeater rifle in his hands.

Davrel raised his eyebrows. "Is this something we should all be concerned about?" he asked.

"He should be. Sarge won't let him get away with being so damn lazy. He has already been reprimanded for oversleeping. Serve him right if he gets punished." Kumus glanced over at Yrek, a frown on his face. "Idiot. How many times does he have to be told that things work differently among us? The Republic might allow that kind of lax discipline, but no one's going to wear it here."

"Shouldn't we wake him up?" Another snore.

Kumus snickered and shook his head. "He'll have to learn the hard way. Just because the officers aren't here is no reason to get slack."

Davrel nodded absently. Kumus had a point and he really couldn't dispute it.

Of the trio, Yrek was the most outgoing and boisterous. Always a reliable source of amusement and perhaps the most irresponsible person Davrel had ever met, Yrek had only been recruited on the strength of his combat ability. Yrek hadn't joined for the honour, and although he claimed it was for the glory, Davrel suspected his friend had recruited for the thrill and notoriety. Wickedly fast with the disintegrators he insisted on using instead of the standard-issue heavy repeater everyone else specialised with, his dexterity was matched only by his smart mouth and fearless courage. Perhaps it was because Yrek was originally an outsider, born on Corellia of all places, that he had no sense of prudence and struggled with the discipline expected of everyone else. Even the most outspoken and insolent of recruits knew when to keep their mouths shut. It was as if he lacked any sense of self-preservation or common sense whatsoever.

Kumus, on the other hand, always did things carefully, covered all possibilities and had never hidden his ambition. Mando-born like Davrel and somehow always composed and confident, Kumus had befriended Davrel and Yrek by starting a fist fight the very day Davrel's group of recruits arrived on Dxun. Kumus had won, but not before Davrel and Yrek extracted their measure of retaliation from him. All had been forgiven by the time they'd finished the first drill session.

Life with Yrek and Kumus was as close as a family as Davrel had now. He knew that Yrek didn't have much by the way of family, and Kumus…Davrel honestly didn't know why Kumus had chosen to follow the Mandalore, not with his family numbering among the few Clans that had emerged from the ashes of Malachor V with a degree of autonomy and power. Among his Clan, Kumus might already have a command of his own. Here on Dxun he was considered a lowly recruit. So for all intents and purposes the trio had created a family of their own, bonded through horrific training drills, bickered and unified after hours of tramping through Dxun's unforgiving terrain, joked at meal-times.

As soon as Yrek's gaze settled on Davrel, a sly grin began to shift across his mouth and he couldn't jump from the bunk fast enough to start harassing his friend. He didn't bother asking Davrel how he was-much like Kumus, he assumed that if his friend was standing, talking and breathing, then he'd be fine.

"Not looking so great Janos," he said. "Thought you'd be strutting around, revelling in the glory. It's not every day a recruit gets to take down a dark Jedi alone. Is that…?" Yrek stopped to sniff the air, his eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement. "Is that roasted nerf I smell?"

"Shut up," Davrel growled.

"Oh-hoh! Touchy are we? What, haven't had enough sleep? Or is your skin a bit _tender_, huh?"

Davrel grabbed the nearest object at hand and threw it at Yrek. Although Yrek tried to duck, the power pack hit him squarely on the shoulder. Kumus chuckled, his deep voice echoed by the barrack's unintended acoustics. Other recruits grumpily snapped at them to shut up. People were trying to sleep, dammit.

"Thought two days would be enough beauty sleep, but it seems that's not the case. He's still all grouchy, Kumus. Should I stick him with a stim and see how it reacts to the other stuff they've stuck him with?" Yrek opened his locker and took an alacrity stim from his med-kit. He held it up and flicked it with a teasing chuckle.

"Don't waste it," Kumus replied. "Just smack him. That'll get him all giddy and light-headed without wasting the chemicals."

"You jab me with that needle I'll make you regret it," Davrel promised, rubbing wearily at his temples.

"So how'd you do it? Kill that dark Jedi guy I mean." Yrek tossed the stim back into his med-kit, dragged out his armour's mesh underlay and began to step into it.

"Is it true you decapitated him with your vibrosword?" Kumus asked.

"I heard it was the guy's own lightsaber," Yrek interjected, adjusting the bodysuit and pulling his arms through the sleeves.

"That true?" Kumus asked, interested despite himself.

"Of course it isn't." Yrek took out his scratched greaves and worn boots. "Davrel couldn't use a weapon like that with any finesse. He'd take off his arms and legs if he tried."

"Was I asking you?" Kumus retorted. "So did you take off his head with his own lightsaber?"

"Yes," Davrel answered, thinking fast. He couldn't tell them everything…at least not until he'd come to terms with the whole idea. "But it wasn't like I had much choice. I'd used my frag, then went and lost the repeater and the sword-" Kumus and Yrek laughed "-so when he dropped the lightsaber I picked it up and used it."

"He dropped the lightsaber? A Force-fool's never that clumsy." Kumus said sceptically.

"He didn't drop it so much as I dislocated his shoulder and began to beat the crap out of him," Davrel replied defensively. "That was when I picked it up and ended the contest."

"_You_ beat a dark Jedi with your fists?" Yrek asked, finishing with his greaves and moving on to the torso of his armour. "Why do I find that hard to believe?"

"Is it that difficult to entertain the idea that I'm as capable as either of you?" Davrel retorted, beginning to grow annoyed.

"Well…" Yrek paused as he strapped the shoulder-guards to his chestplate. "Yes."

"What Yrek meant was that you aren't exactly the fastest in our squad, and you haven't really bothered to learn the kind of hand-to-hand required to take on a Force-user," Kumus interrupted with more tact.

Yrek sniggered. "We all saw that when he fought that Jedi woman in the Battle Circle. You couldn't overpower her, didn't catch her."

Davrel scowled and stood.

"Worried about the punishment?" Kumus asked, offering a diversion.

Davrel shrugged, hoping he'd appear apathetic about the whole notion of punishment.

Yrek playfully pushed Davrel so he stumbled back unsteadily.

"Don't sweat it," he said in his distinct Corellian accent. "It took skill none of us thought you had to take down that guy on your own. I saw your armour when they brought you in; it was scorched. From what Zhar was moaning 'bout there's no chance of fixing your helmet after it fried like that. Heard him telling Kral there's not enough replacement parts left the repair the ruined circuitry."

"And no technicians capable of doing the job," Kumus added. "Unless you trust Zhar with your gear."

Davrel's face paled quickly.

"You'll have to wait," Yrek said, strapping his utility belt around his hips. "That group of reinforcements form Nar Shaddaa's supposed to get here soon. Maybe they have a tech with them."

"Might not," Kumus said with almost gleeful pessimism.

"Hey, you never know." Yrek shrugged optimistically.

Davrel didn't think that likely. Fighting men were always easy to find. Technicians weren't. For all he knew, it would be months before his helmet was repaired.

_Months without proper equipment. All because I got it into my head to follow what the damn Jedi told me._

He groaned and buried his head in his hands.

"Tough break," Kumus commented without a trace of sympathy.

Yrek snickered and flicked one gloved finger at the kolto patches peeking out from under the plain shift Davrel wore. Davrel hissed in pain, smacked Yrek's hand away and threw the other recruit into the lockers. Yrek laughed and grinned.

"You're healing okay. So buck up, huh? Remember how long it took Kumus to heal after that Sith lit him brighter than a Mantellian casino? How many points did that skirmish set you back?"

Kumus grunted dismissively. He'd been one of the few recruits truly involved in the offensive against the Sith encamped at that tomb-and had been among the few to survive. This would have pleased anyone else, but didn't satisfy Kumus, for whom the operation remained a sore point. He'd killed too few Sith and sustained too many injuries for his personal point-scoring. Yrek knew about this, and never passed up an opportunity to stir Kumus about the fact.

"It was at least four days before he could sit up, let alone stand or move or anything. I think that's what, a fifty point deduction Kumus? Hey, how many points does a dark Jedi equate?"

Kumus didn't answer.

Yrek shrugged. "I'd hazard about ten, fifteen? I'd give you more Dav, but you have to understand that dark Jedi are rather common these days. Anyway, you must have a serious constitution to be walking it off in two days. Better than our mate's" Yrek tilted his head in Kumus' direction, his eyes lit up with amusement. "Sounds like Dav's got more ticker than we gave him credit for."

"Or he's more stupid than anyone feared," Kumus replied. "Disobeying direct orders like that wasn't the smartest idea you ever had, Janos. What would you have done if there'd been more than one of them?"

"No problem for Dav. He'd take 'em" Yrek holstered his disintegrators and reached for the blue helmet perched on the top shelf of his locker. "Real hero lately."

"Sure, sure," Davrel said, rolling his eyes.

"Next time, wait for reinforcements," Kumus advised. "Honour's no good if you're dead."

"Like you can talk," Davrel replied, venting his annoyance. "Who in the camp doesn't know that Jedi saved your hide? She was kind enough not to rub the shame in, but you're no better than me."

Yrek roared with laughter at that, his guffaws muffled as he pulled on the blue helmet and waited for the internal systems to initiate. Kumus leant forward and dealt Davrel a hard smack on the shoulders-right along the worst of the dark Jedi's damage. Before Kumus could step away, Davrel grabbed his arm and in one smooth movement, stood, twisted Kumus' arm behind his back and shoved his friend into the lockers face-first.

"That's the Janos we all know," Yrek laughed, his voice deepened by the helmet's vocabulator, lending it a mechanised tone.

Kumus threw Davrel off and laughed, shaking his head and rubbing at his reddened cheek. "How did you survive? Honestly, I-"

The encampment's second training sergeant, Liton Kral, strode into the barracks, recognised the three recruits and halted abruptly. Under the scrutiny of the implacable and honourably dented and scratched yellow T-visor, Davrel, Kumus and Yrek all came to a respectful-and properly fearful-silence.

"Good to see you standing, Janos," Kral began in a deceptively neutral tone. "What happened to those drills, Kumus? Wasn't aware it took ten minutes to find a rifle."

Kumus shut his locker, grabbed his repeater and saluted. Clever enough to know the training sergeant's question wasn't truly a question, the older recruit didn't answer and left.

"And you, pretty boy, why aren't you outside? Oversleep again?" He demanded of Yrek.

"Uh…Couldn't find my vibroblade?" Yrek tried, grabbing the weapon in question and wisely choosing that moment to leave. "Later, sir."

Davrel watched him go with an imminent sense of dread.

"If you can stand, you can be fitted for new armour," Kral barked. "And after that's finished, you'll report directly to Bralor about your need to play hero out there in the jungle. Get that 'blade of yours as well-I want you out on the training circle after Zhar and Bralor are finished with you. Now you're awake and obviously not incapacitated don't expect any further coddling."

Davrel, shaped by a years' worth of discipline and instruction, automatically followed Kral's barked orders, but dreaded having to report personally to ---.

_What am I going to report? They won't believe I defeated that dark Jedi alone, not with my lack of combat prowess…not even Kumus or Yrek really believed me. But if I tell the truth they'll think I'm crazy. Or worse…_ He winced, recalling how easily the Force had answered him, how it felt to be a part of the benign energy, to follow its lead... _How can I tell them the truth? There'll be questions, they'll want to know how, and when they learn they'll send me away! Because relying on the Force isn't precisely _honourable_, is it? _

_They'll make my choice for me. _

His newfound confidence in the Force guiding him faltered as he went out in search of Zhar, the replacement quartermaster.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The armour Zhar had given Davrel was at least two sizes too big, but it couldn't be helped. There wasn't an extensive selection of armour in the stores and until the group on Telos secured a steady supply, the number of suits would be limited.

Zhar hadn't an ounce of sympathy for Davrel's plight. In that arrogant but pragmatic manner of his he'd merely shrugged and advised Davrel to "next time obey orders." Davrel hadn't argued the point that the others probably wouldn't have followed control's instructions either. He was intimidated by the older and more experienced veteran and knew Zhar could get sore if contradicted. Particularly by a smart-mouthed recruit. But all knew that the camp's recent tedium had driven many stir-crazy and Davrel very well knew that no one else would have retreated and waited for reinforcements.

Still, he didn't argue. He already plenty of injuries to recover from as it were. No need to earn a few more.

He didn't have a helmet either. With all its sensitive HUD systems fried to shit, Davrel's helmet had been tossed into the repair store-a dingy former storage bunker known among the recruits as the Bower for reasons unknown-and pretty much forgotten about. Without a decent technician it wouldn't get fixed. And the best technician in the encampment had left with the others months ago.

"You'll be beaten black and blue," Zhar informed him gleefully before sending him off. "That new helmet won't be ready for a month or so, with all the adjustments I'll have to make. I doubt you'll be permitted on any serious duty, but I'm certain Kral's going to teach you a lesson or two for being so careless with your equipment. Lucky Xarga's not here. No doubt you'll learn to appreciate that helmet." He snickered in disgust and sent him off.

Davrel's gut sank when he realised that Zhar was spot on. He fretted about it as he unwillingly headed for the vine-choked building directly opposite the Bower. He noted that there were nowthree training circles instead of one, and an increase in numbers. His own training circle could hardly be seen for the armoured men ringed about it.

When he entered the Command Centre, his expression grew wary. A tall brawny man wearing dark blue armour was in the middle of a heated discussion with a pair of strangers.

Since the highest-ranked officers were away battling Sith for the Republic on Telos, Davrel had to report to the man left behind to run things in their absence. That man was Bralor, current champion of the battle circle and presently bitter about the fact he'd been left behind to command the encampment while his peers were away. He stood in front of the outdated and chipped datascreen that lined the opposite wall, his head bent as he listened carefully to what the tall redheaded woman and the Zabrak were saying. Davrel waited anxiously beside the small ramp, his gaze flickering to the strangers.

"Vaklu had friends, influential ones who may decide to take advantage of our present weakness. The Council of Lords still exists down on Onderon, and many of those Lords command sizeable forces." Bralor's voice echoed through the command centre.

"You're worried about those old men when there's a threat not two klicks from where we now stand?" The woman's expression grew disgusted.

"Those 'old men' you dismiss so casually are the real threat," Bralor replied. "Dashel alone commands a force that could easily equal ours."

"Don't compare _Sith_ to Onderon's soft lords," the woman snapped. "It would require minimal support-"

"Request denied," Bralor interrupted, enunciating each word deliberately.

The Zabrak gestured mildly at the red-head to stay her temper, and Davrel's gaze dropped, curiously wondering how the man had lost his arm. He'd never seen a cybernetic replacement quite like that one before.

_Or had he? _

And then he blinked, his heart stopping his throat as he recognised the weapon at the Zabrak's hip.

_A Jedi, _he thought, unable to contain his sudden panic.

The woman gave an impatient cry and stormed out of the centre, not even glancing Davrel's way as she left wearing a stormy expression.

"I apologise for Mira's temper," the Zabrak said in a modulated and even tone. Davrel barely suppressed a smirk, losing some of his fear with the recollection that this was one of the Jedi woman's companions during the zakkeg fight. He'd been thrown, his weapon crushed underfoot during the fray. The red-haired woman he'd never seen before. "But her dissatisfaction, while perhaps not expressed diplomatically, is understandable. We suspect the Tomb of Freedon Nadd wasn't properly cleansed of the dark side and she would prefer to send a team out there immediately."

"So your Jedi friends didn't complete the job the last time you were here?" Bralor's contempt was revealed in his voice. "And your little red-headed friend is all put-out because I won't jump when she snaps her fingers? Deal with it. If she wants that sweep, she'll have to wait. And so will you. You might have noticed that this camp isn't at full strength and allocating the men or supplies necessary for this diversion isn't going to be an easy task. Frankly, you'll have to wait until the Clan you brought from Dantooine are settled and the next load of supplies arrives. Then we might be able to equip and send a squad out to that Tomb without further depleting the camp's defences."

"How long will that take?" Bao-Dur asked.

"The next supply freighter arrives in a week. Think you could have the beacons repaired by then? That trader won't land without a reliable signal to guide him in."

"I suppose I could…if a squad is outfitted," the Zabrak countered.

Bralor waited for a long moment, cursed in Mando'a, then grudgingly nodded.

"If Zuka was still here I wouldn't have to deal with damn Jedi," he grumbled. "Fine, we'll outfit a squad in a week-after the trader's dropped off our supplies. Until then, you can scout out three suitable places to set up the beacons."

"Deal," the Zabrak said solemnly, offering a hand.

Bralor shook it and watched the Zabrak leave. His attention fell on Davrel. "Your turn," he said darkly, gesturing for Davrel to approach.

Davrel stepped forward, his face deliberately stoic. "Yes sir."

"Davrel? Ah, you're the idiot who got smacked about in the battle circle by the Jedi, aren't you?" Davrel nodded. "You're also the same _di'kut_ dragged back to this camp after disobeying orders, aren't you?" Davrel nodded again, but his mouth tightened into a thin line. "Just making certain I know who it is I'm dealing with. Up already, I see. Good. That kind of dedication and resilience is remarkable. Here to make a report then? Go ahead. Tell me. What happened?"

Davrel rallied his courage and wits before starting. He decided to omit any references to the Force. From the mood Bralor appeared to be in he wasn't countenancing any perceived crap.

"While on patrol in quadrant gamma I discovered signs of a Sith. After finding signs that the intruder was Sith affiliated I contacted control as directed," Davrel recounted.

"So why did you blatantly disregard direct orders? Control informed you that another patrol would be sent to investigate," Bralor demanded.

"I assumed I could secure the site and eliminate the threat," Davrel replied, a little too glibly for the commander's liking. "And I did just that, sir."

"Did you now?" Bralor's tone was condescending. "And how did you accomplish that feat, recruit?"

"The target was in the tree, sir," Davrel answered. "I threw a frag to clear him out but I'm certain he must have been equipped with a stealth belt, perhaps an Exchange Shadowcaster. And a shield was being used as well. I fired off an entire cartridge-

"Waste of ammo," Bralor growled in disgust.

"-but the intruder resorted to…" Davrel stumbled, not liking the memory.

"Resorted to what?"

"That lightning they're so fond of, sir. But he didn't press his advantage, like he should have, and instead chose to indulge in a tirade. He even made an attempt to sway my loyalty with that nonsense they all spout, sir."

"What did he offer?" At Davrel's feigned confusion, Bralor snorted. "I know that much about those fools that like to play Sith and dark Jedi. What did he offer in exchange for your loyalty? Position as a Sith captain, perhaps?"

Davrel suppressed the urge to laugh nervously. Bralor had conveniently handed him the very thing he needed to conceal the truth. Davrel hadn't ever possessed a natural talent for lying or deception.

"Yes, sir. The enemy offered me a position as a captain in their army. He wasn't at all impressed when I turned it down. Started to accuse me of being a weak-willed coward." A thought came to him, something the dark Jedi had claimed. "And a pawn of the Republic."

"A pawn of the Republic?"

"The Sith made claims that our leader is being controlled by an outside influence," Davrel risked. It was the one thing of interest the dark Jedi had said during the entire encounter and Davrel wanted to know if it was true. "By the Jedi Revan."

"Ridiculous. Revan's long gone," Bralor scoffed, brushing aside the notion. "What else did this intruder claim?"

_That I'm Force-sensitive and should leave,_ Davrel thought. _That I don't belong among you any more. _

"Many things, sir, but that was his favourite theme. He even went so far as to accuse Mandalore of being Revan's pet kath hound."

Bralor laughed, obviously finding humour in that claim. "That man was lucky you killed him Davrel, and not Mandalore. The death he suffered at your hands was an easy one. It would not have been had our leader overheard those claims."

Satisfied that his commander knew nothing of the Sith's claims, Davrel continued.

"I was able to find enough strength to fight back with my vibroblade. The target then attempted to-"

_Don't tell them how easily that monster got into your head,_ Davrel advised himself. _Only the weak-willed are broken. _

"Attempted to _what?"_ Bralor's irritation increased enough for Davrel to sense it through the Force. _It's a sign of weakness you can't afford. _

"He attempted to intrude upon my mind, sir," Davrel answered.

"And did he in fact _intrude_ upon your mind?"

"No," Davrel lied. "I fought back with my vibroblade until he disarmed me of that too."

"Must be cortosis lined," Bralor muttered.

"It is," Davrel answered. "It was my grandfather's. Was it recovered?"

Bralor shook his head. "Only your repeater was found."

This time Davrel couldn't hide his disappointment. He'd prized that vibrosword, had managed to keep possession of it during all his years traipsing after Kamran and taken special care to keep its blade sharp and its power cells fresh. Losing it grieved him.

"At that point I had no weapons left, so I chanced hand-to-hand. The earlier fight must have wearied him because it was relatively simple to disarm him in return."

"That dark Jedi must have been at his worst," Bralor commented, "if _you_ could fight him."

The comment didn't sting as much as it might have. Instead, Davrel managed a grin.

"He wasn't too bad, just accustomed to swinging around that weapon of his instead of fighting properly. Let himself get caught in a shoulder hold. I broke his shoulder blade, I think, or at least dislocated that arm before he dropped his lightsaber. But I made a bad swing and he started…well, he started _glowing_ and looking like something crawled out of one of those reactor cores on Drovis VI."

"And?"

Davrel blinked, doing his best to feign confusion. "And what, sir?"

"Need I ask?" Davrel continued to stare at him. "What happened?"

"He was concentrating on whatever it was he was conjuring up. I wasn't."

"What possessed you to use the lightsaber? You aren't trained in such weaponry."

Davrel shrugged, his shoulder plates jostling. "There wasn't much else left, sir. The enemy was clearly about to use some form of terror technique and I wanted no part of it. So I picked up the lightsaber and swung it. The fool was so caught up in his trance that he didn't realise I was on him. That was when I passed out. I don't remember anything after that."

"Remarkable tale you spin," Bralor said at last, turning back to the console. "I suppose anyone else might say your nerve could be admired, and your courage in engaging a superior adversary a personality trait that should be encouraged. The initiative you displayed is something I personally haven't seen in many of the raw recruits that come here lately. You could have a decent future. But ultimately, your insubordination has to be addressed."

Davrel waited, holding his breath, not trusting to hope that he was merely going to be given a pat on the back.

"By deliberately ignoring direct orders, you could have put the camp in serious danger. It should go without saying that a good soldier follows instruction. What is it with you young recruits and not using your brains? Incapable of shouldering any responsibility whatsoever. You'll know better now, I guess, after the barbeque you endured." Bralor sighed and shook his head. "Punishment is sentry duty. I don't have the patience to lecture you. Kral can do that better than me anyway. You will meet with the others tonight at the gate. Make certain your rifle's loaded. The paths are beginning to get dangerous again."

"Yes sir," Davrel replied promptly, priding himself silently for keeping his face from falling. "And for how long will I report at the gate, sir?"

Bralor shrugged and turned away toward the console, his attention caught by an insistent beeping. "Until someone else fouls up during patrol. Have fun kid."

_Sentry!_ Davrel thought in dismay as he left. No one liked sentry duty. It was worse than simply sitting about the camp doing nothing-it entailed sitting about doing nothing but keeping a close eye on the bomas, cannoks and maalraas that stalked about waiting to pounce the moment a sentry got distracted. Not long ago, sentry duty had been an assignment that held a certain amount of risk and danger, considering the potential to encounter Onderonian scouts and all manner of local predators. Now it was simply an inconvenience.

_Oh well, at least I'll be equipped with one of those stealth shields_. That lifted his mood a little. He'd been anxious to try one of the stealth shields used by sentries ever since he'd first seen them in practice.

As Davrel strode out of the command centre and towards the training circle, two pairs of eyes followed him curiously. He was too distracted and concerned with the impending training to notice the attention and he soon walked out of earshot before the woman began to speak.

"Did you believe a word of that?" Mira asked in a tone that clearly indicated she didn't.

Bao-Dur shook his head regretfully. "Unfortunately, no. There are still questions that need answering. That young man did all he could to avoid answering directly, didn't he?"

"Sure did. Wouldn't mind finding out how he won without any real preparation. Did you see the corpse they brought back? The kid lopped his head off with the guy's own lightsaber." Mira snickered. "Harsh but fair."

"Certainly avoided answeringhow he actually handled the lightsaber," Bao-Dur mused. "Or how he tracked the dark Jedi in the first place. His deflection concerning what the man offered him is curious as well. What dark Jedi takes an interest in a Mandalorian recruit?"

"Maybe the kid wasn't up for playing slave," Mira suggested. "I can sympathise with that. And it isn't exactly something a Mandalorian recruit would openly tell his XO. What with that complicated sense of pride and shame and all."

Even after all these years-and her training-Mira still harboured great bitterness for her years lost as a slave. This concerned both Bao-Dur and Mical greatly, particularly in light of the Exiles' disappearance. Neither had any influence over Mira.

"No, it's something else." Bao-Dur frowned slightly. "Something is off about him. Mical said the boy responded when he was healing him."

"Responded? As in he spoke to him or..?"

"As in the boy answered back through the Force," Bao-Dur replied. Mira's mouth fell open with shock, and before she could demand to know why she hadn't been informed of this development, he hurried on. "Mical isn't certain if he's aware of this connection. Certainly didn't make mention of it during that report he just gave."

"And Mical didn't make any mention of it to me!" Mira hissed, not hiding her irritation. "It's kind of important, don't you think?"

"Of course, but with you already preoccupied with the Tomb mission, neither of us saw sense in distracting you," Bao-Dur answered easily. Mira glanced over at him, held his patient gaze and finally sighed in resignation.

"Don't do it again," she warned. "If it's important to our mission, I should know. I'm not a baby, and despite the fact you and Mical seem to have some ridiculous and antiquated notion of chivalry-"

"It wasn't that at all," Bao-Dur interrupted. Then he thought on it and relented slightly, a small, amused smile playing on his face. "Mical perhaps, but certainly not me."

"We're supposed to be a team. Equals. I treat the two of you equally, even though I know Mical's about as useful as a gizka and you, you-" Mira faltered. "Just don't keep things from me. Ever. I might not forgive you next time." The comm on her wrist began to beep insistently. Mira groaned and switched the power off. Bao-Dur raised an eyebrow.

"I'm sick of playing babysitter," she explained defensively. "It's Mical's turn and there's no way he's getting out of it. I'm a bounty hunter, not a nursemaid. That kind of work isa Disciple's province."

"We all agreed to help them. It's what _she_ would have wanted us to do. You should meditate, deal with your growing frustration." Mira shot daggers at him. Bao-Dur watched as Davrel was handed a pike and sent to drill alone on the other side of the encampment. An idea began to form as the recruits continued to spar. "You've been complaining of lack of sport, Mira. Why don't do you go show those recruits a thing or two?"

Mira grinned, the suggestion clearly appealing to her.

"I distract, you investigate," she said before striding off in the direction of the training circle. He waited until she'd approached the yellow-armoured training sergeant before starting towards Davrel.

Preoccupied with his drills, Davrel didn't realise that the Zabrak had approached him until the man was literally at the other end of his pike, the metal tip inches from his face. The Jedi didn't blink. Davrel lowered the pike and stared at the Jedi with growing confusion.

"What do you want?" he asked bluntly.

"Merely to speak with you."

"About what?" His apprehension couldn't be suppressed. The Zabrak was strong through the Force, a calm and controlled presence that unnerved him. In an effort to distract himself, Davrel continued with the basic-but tiring-drill, a sequence of parries, thrusts, swipes and feints. It worked.

"The encounter you had in the jungles. I merely wished to check on the damage the dark Jedi may have caused." The Zabrak watched his movements. "But you appear to be remarkably well-healed."

"I heal fast," Davrel said.

"Was there anything specific you can tell me about the man that attacked you?"

Davrel shrugged nonchalantly. "Used a red lightsaber. Liked to threaten a lot. Needed some sun."

"There has to be something other than that, something you didn't tell your commanding officer," the Zabrak said.

"You obviously heard my report," Davrel replied, his apprehension transforming into irritation. "Nothing else happened."

"Jedi can detect lies," the Zabrak said with pointed deliberation.

"And? What does that have to do with me?" Davrel glanced at the Zabrak, wondering how long it would take Sarge to notice that he'd stopped his drills. _Hopefully not long…please Sarge, notice and start roaring at me to finish my drills. Make this Jedi leave me alone._

But with the commotion going on at the training circle on the other side of the encampment, it didn't look like he was going to be saved anytime soon. So Davrel decided to take matters into his own hands.

"You lied to your superior officer. I know it, but I do not understand why."

"Is it any of your business?" Davrel asked belligerently. "It's considered poor form to listen in on conversations not intended for your ears."

"We requested to be present during your report. After being denied, Mira thought it better to stick around. Both of us are concerned for you."

"Save it," Davrel retorted, moving through the sequence of strikes and parries and feints a step faster. The Zabrak watched, not speaking a word. Davrel finished the combination and returned to his mark, ready to start again. The pike balanced, he took the first step when-

-the Jedi gestured and-

-the pike flew out of his grasp and thudded into the earth a pace from the Jedi.

"Let go of your fear and clear your mind of the hostility that clouds it." Davrel stared at the pike and drew himself up straight-backed, meeting the Zabrak's placid brown eyes. "What truly happened during your encounter with the dark Jedi?"

"Nothing I wish to speak of," Davrel countered with a small, hard smile. The Zabrak's mind reached out to his own-but did not intrude like the dark Jedi had. Davrel thought of his barricade, blocked the attempt and tilted his head, assessing the Zabrak. "Don't try that again. I don't like _anyone_ attempting to influence me. What you overheard is all there is to know. Leave me alone."

He reached forward to take the pike.

"One of my companions healed you not long after our arrival. Do you remember that?"

Davrel was tempted to shake his head, attempt another lie, but found he didn't have the heart to try. So he nodded mutely and drove his pike's butt into the ground in an effort to distance himself from the scene.

"He spoke to me afterward about how you responded to his administrations. It bothered him that one so untrained could instinctively intuit how to reach out through the Force. Particularly one so badly harmed during an encounter with one tainted by the dark side. Whatever residual negativity lingered afterward was cleansed by Mical-with your active help. Did you realise that?"

"No. I mean, no, I didn't help. Your friend managed it all by himself." Feeling awkward, Davrel stared down at the dirt at his feet. "Could you pass on my thanks? It was…uh…" Ah _fierfek_, why did he always struggle with thanking people? "It was kind of him to help when he didn't really have to."

The Zabrak smiled warmly, but that thoughtful expression still lurked behind it. "I'm sure Mical will be glad to hear that. There were times when he feared for your life. The burns were serious, as were the complications they created through the organs of your body. There was also a curious lack of energy he had to contend with. Do you have an explanation for that, Davrel?"

He remembered the final thing the dark Jedi had done, that arc of light that leeched him of strength and will. He recalled his response, an instinct to suppress, stifle, _deflect… _

_What had it been?_ He asked himself. _Would this Jedi be able to tell me?_

But he couldn't take the risk. What if whatever measure he'd taken against that dark Jedi was considered taboo or even…evil? The term of almost foreign to Davrel, who didn't tend to think in terms of light and dark. His defensiveness reasserted itself and he shook his head. He even tried to keep a distance between them through them Force, despite fearing that his effort might be detected. So the Zabrak tried another tack.

"From what Mical told me, your armour was destroyed during the encounter. Particularly your helmet. I could take a look at it if you'd like," the Zabrak offered. "Perhaps I could repair the damage cause by the dark Jedi."

"Really?" Davrel knew about the work the Zabrak Jedi had done on the camp during the first visit. Zhar and Zuka hadn't shut up for weeks after the alien repaired the sensor relay and the power cables. If anyone could fix his gear, it would be this fellow.

"Certainly. There are spare components on the ship." The Zabrak offered his hand. "My name is Bao-Dur."

"My name is Davrel, but I suppose you already know that." Reciprocating, Davrel reached forward and-

-a rush of prescience flew through him, searching for one brief glimpse at what troubled him, just one-

_(The Jedi woman stares at him knowingly and says "It's in there, and you can feel it for yourself now.")_

-betrayed and angered, Davrel abruptly tore himself from the scrap of dream, severed the connection with a deliberate push and-

-recoiled as he stepped back and snatched back his hand, a look of horror written on his face.

"My apologies," Bao-Dur said sincerely, "but I had to know."

Davrel glared furiously at the Zabrak. Within, he was a confusion of contradicting emotion and impulses. A part urged trust, wanted nothing but to confess this strange capability and perhaps find understanding. Another demanded independence, berated him for being a weak fool and sought to confront the Zabrak, beat him for daring to violate his mind and steal his secrets.

"So you _can_ feel it." The Jedi didn't appear at all surprised. "I thought as much. But that _she_ knew and didn't mention it? We never suspected there could be others…"

He seemed to pull himself together and focused back on Davrel. "The Jedi will train you, now that Force-sensitive sentients are needed. Why didn't you come with us earlier, the first time we arrived, or the second-"

"I can't talk about this now, not here." Davrel's gaze flickered to the soldiers gathering to watch the upcoming battle circle bouts. Uncomfortable with the thought of being seen chatting with a Jedi-and what questions that might raise-he wanted nothing more than to escape as far away from him as possible.

The Zabrak nodded. "We can discuss this another time," he agreed.

"Perhaps." Davrel took the opportunity to flee, only pausing long enough to pull his pike from the ground.

He made certain to avoid all Jedi for the rest of the afternoon and deliberately drove all thought of the Force from his mind.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After a day of drilling, repetitive exercises and clearing the muck out of the latrines, Davrel was exhausted when he returned to the barracks, which was alive with more activity now the newcomers had moved in. Kumus wasn't there. He'd been headedfrom the direction of the ordnance storage when Davrel passed him, laden down with equipment, preparing for the next day's mission.

"Hey Janos, thanks for taking my shift!" someone called as Davrel entered.

"It'll be yours again, you wait," Davrel retorted.

"So you got stuck with sentry huh?" Yrek asked, already perched in his bunk and absently switching through holochannels on a small holoviewer, the blue light falling upon his face. It didn't come as a surprise that he wasn't preparing for the next day's mission.

_Typical of Yrek, to leave the planning and vital details to Kumus_, Davrel thought, watching as Yrek settled on a noisy and colourful holovid, featuring an exotic dark-haired human woman backed by two dispassionate Bith wearing flamboyantly bright costumes. Davrel wondered if the Bith were resentful about the ridiculous garb. He was certain the Bith he'd met would be. Yrek on the other hand had no interest in the musicians and was focused entirely on the lead vocalist.

Davrel nodded and feigned detachment. "How it goes. Could have worse I guess." He pulled off the uncomfortable helmet and opened his standing locker. "Could have been stuck setting charges with you and Kumus tomorrow instead."

"Think you're funny don't you?"

"Don't get stranded atop any cliffs," Davrel warned, laughing and methodically began stripping off his armour. "Unless you want to be saved by the Jedi like he was."

"Better than being whupped by them," Yrek countered with a grin. "And given pity points."

"If I wasn't close to passing out right now and desperate for a wash, I'd hit you," Davrel said conversationally, storing his too-big armour like he'd been taught; first by his brother, and then by Xarga and Kral.

"So what did that Zabrak have to say?" Yrek asked. "Saw you talking to him during drills."

"He was checking up on me," Davrel shrugged, skirting an outright lie. "You know how nosy Jedi get. Wanted to know about the man I killed."

"Bet he was annoyed. Probably wanted to try a sob story and win him over to the _light side_," Yrek joked over the wailing of the holovid.

Davrel had to turn his back to hide an involuntary wince. Under the pretence of putting away his gear and going over his equipment for tomorrow's sentry duty, he managed to let the conversation lapse until he'd shut the locker and was ready to crawl into bed. His sore and healing body wanted to rest and Davrel was more than happy to comply. Yrek, unfortunately, wasn't.

"When does the so-called punishment start?" he asked after rejecting Davrel's request to turn the volume down.

"Tomorrow," Davrel told him, yawning and climbing into his bunk. "After training."

"Don't worry about it. You'll cruise," Yrek advised, speaking from experience. "Sentry's duty's not that bad. Boring mostly. It'll all clear up tomorrow. Just need a decent sleep is all. Wait and see."

"I'm not worried," Davrel lied. He suddenly felt lonely.

_I hope so_, Davrel thought, unable to share Yrek's optimism. When he rolled over to his side, a sharp pang of pain reminded him of the broken ribs. He rolled onto his back, staring up at the metal slats of the bunk above him without actually seeing them.

Instead, all he could think of were those Jedi. Meddling, manipulating Jedi. What gave them the right to interfere in his life?

Bao-Dur's offer returned to mind but Davrel instantly dismissed it.

_I can't risk it, not when I don't know what I'm going to do. The less time I spend near them the better. They can't help me anyway. They wouldn't understand._

And when he dreamed that night, _she _was there again, with her incessant statement and frustrating certainty.

_"It's in there, and you can feel it for yourself now…" _

**A/N:** Thanks so, so, so much for the reviews! About the Basilisk-I'd kind of noticed that it was sort of like the _Virago _but didn't think much on it. To be honest, I kinda like the original version better-looks almost alive.


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